Ron
by Wolf126
Summary: "Ron knows that he can pretend many things, but he cannot pretend to not love Hermione Granger." Ron watches as Harry and Hermione grow closer during and after the events of Deathly Hallows. Harry/Hermione. AU. One-shot.


_Character(s): Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley._

_Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. The _Harry Potter_ series belongs solely to J. K. Rowling. _

_An anonymous reviewer from my fic 'Needful Things' told me to write a happier ending for Harry and Hermione, and so I did, but I decided to give it an angst-y twist as it's told from the perspective of Ron, who is still in love with Hermione. Didn't expect THAT, now did you? :3_

_So, yes, here is a little angst-y Harry/Hermione from Ron's perspective. I could probably improve it somehow, but I think it's all right as it is. Please, enjoy._

_Constructive criticism is welcome. Please, no flames._

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**Ron**

**oOoOo**

They were practically the same, Harry and Hermione. They even looked somewhat alike after months spent on the run, months of freezing misery and starvation. A time when they could only trust one another. It . . . makes him wish that he'd never left. It seems to have forged their relationship anew, stronger than it ever was before and, now, it is all but unbreakable.

Even after everything, he can't help but feel slightly guilty. Both were slender, their bodies emaciated and pale, altogether unhealthy and underweight. The rings under their eyes stand as testament to the recurring nightmares which plague their dreams. They can barely suffer to be apart from one another for any length of time, he's noticed. They've had only each other for far too long.

Each has a sheering scar carved into their flesh. His is on the back of the hand, spouting, _'I must not tell lies_.' That not counting the most obvious scar, the one that represents the death of his family and the start of his destiny, something which no child should have had to bear. Especially _him_. Hers is the singular word, _'Mudblood,'_ scrawled into the tender flesh of her forearm, a cruel insult that could never be cleansed. He pretends not to care that he has no scars of his own, no trophies to proudly display as battles he's fought and survived.

Do they see themselves, he wonders, when they look in the mirror? Do they stop and contemplate the person they have become, the persons they used to be? He feels like they've moved on, become a totally new Harry and Hermione, while he remains the same as ever Ronald Weasley.

And after Shell Cottage, he pretends not to notice the way the two can never really be separated, even for a short amount of time. It was partly his fault, he knew, and so he had no right whatsoever to comment on it. If he hadn't left, Harry and Hermione wouldn't have had only each other. If he hadn't left, Harry might not be so willing to listen to everything Hermione has to say, and Hermione might not be so quick to look at Harry whenever he enters the room.

He pretends not to notice how easily their hands find each other in the darkness, gripping each other tightly, never willing to let go because, in their own tortured minds, letting go just isn't an option. It's life or death. And so they hold hands and squeeze each other's hand reassuringly when things get too desperate, too difficult, reassuring each other that one day, everything will be better. Everything will be good again. And in the end, they'll be safe. Together.

He pretends not to notice how much of a functioning team they have become while battling, how familiar they are with each other's bodies. Harry knows that when Hermione moves a certain way, she's opting for_'Petrificus Totalus.'_ And Hermione knows that when Harry ducks down like that, he's planning on surprising the enemy with a hasty_'Stupify'_ so she covers him. Now, _he's_ the odd one out.

And he can't remember if it was always this way.

They're two parts of the same coin, so it would seem. Harry on one, Hermione on the other. They're inseparable now. Because of _him_. Because of what he did out of sheer anger. He'd made a mistake, and there was no way to take it back.

During the battle, she may have kissed him, a spur of the moment kind of thing, but he pretends not to notice the way something in her eye dies when she spots Harry lying motionless in Hagrid's arms. He pretends not to notice when she helplessly collapses to the ground in the midst of the crowd, crying quietly and eyes blinking back the furious tears. He stands up for the both of them, knowing that if Harry is dead, something in Hermione has died, too. Perhaps it's her compassion. Perhaps it's the death of every goal she's ever held dear. Perhaps he'll never know.

He pretends not to notice the way she refuses to leave his side, even after the battle, sitting forlornly in that chair next to his bed in the hospital wing, her concerned eyes clearly focused on him. Just as they always were. Just as they always will be. Miraculously, he's there when Harry reawakens, and a happier cry from Hermione he has never heard as when she flings herself upon him in a crushing hug, one she hasn't given him for what seems like ages. She refuses to let go until she is reassured by Harry that he is alive and well, despite being slightly sore.

He pretends not to notice the way Harry's eyes, even dulled from being half-asleep still, sparkle with an intensity he's never seen. Relief floods his eyes, which tells Ron that he was worried for Hermione. That he hadn't known if she had made it out of the battle alive or not.

When Ron looks away, he catches the eye of his sister, whose gaze was fastened previously on Harry and Hermione. He stares at her inquiryingly, and she shakes her head sadly, admitting defeat. Admitting that it had been a foolish thing to do, persuing the one and only Harry Potter when he already had one girl to love him plenty. He already had everything that he'd ever need.

Even after the war, he pretends not to notice when she slips into his bedroom at night and closes the door behind her, shielding her from his view as he stands frozen in the shadows, that glass of water clearly forgotten. He doesn't want to know what they're doing, whether chatting or something more. He knows that they're not intimate. Or at least, he _hopes_ they're not. But, plagued by nightmares, each comforts the other. Hermione dreams of razor blades and maniacal smiles, while Harry dreams of floating faces, each as accusing as the last.

He pretends not to care when Harry purchases an apartment in London and Hermione moves in with him, never too far away for fear of being caught helpless against the recurring nightmares.

He pretends to think that he still has a chance with Hermione, despite everything.

When Harry finally proposes, Hermione is the first to announce the news to Ron, bursting with excitement and joy as she is. She knows that, though they're scarred beyond recognition, they can still learn to heal together.

"I love him, Ron," she says. "I really do."

He pretends to be cheerful for her, even while this seething jealousy is wringing his guts out. He pretends to care when Harry finally approaches and confronts him about being his best man at the wedding.

During the wedding itself, Ron pretends to be happy, of all things. Because that's what friends do . . . Isn't it?

In the end, however, Ron knows he can pretend many things, but he cannot pretend to _not_ love Hermione Granger.

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_Please, read and review to let me know what you think. Come on, I love random messages. ;-)_


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